The Keeper
by HotWhiteIce
Summary: Castiel is on the run after committing a crime deemed unforgivable. Heaven is no longer safe for him, which means it is time for Dean Winchester to fulfill his service to God- protecting a now very mortal, very vulnerable angel from both heaven and earth. But Dean never agreed to being a servant of the Lord, and something tells him Castiel isn't exactly telling the whole truth.
1. Chapter 1

/

Dean Winchester wasn't a holy man. He didn't believe in god or the father or...whatever the third thing was. And, most of all, Dean Winchester didn't believe in angels.

The concept of angels were almost humorous to him, even as a child in Sunday school; big guys with fluffy wings floating around in dresses, playing harps and being generally good- what wasn't funny about that?

More seriously, though, (and on a more mature level) Dean didn't have time for crap like that. He worked two jobs, one teaching middle schoolers to read Odysseus properly, the other fixing cars in his dad's shop on the weekends. Both careers were overall fulfilling to his sense of self, but they weren't overly filling towards his wallet, so to speak.

With his father recently deceased in a car accident and his mother lost to a house fire when he was 11, Dean was left to take care of his 15 year old brother Sam, and his 12 year old brother Adam. In the end, having a drained wallet (with two hungry boys to feed, no less) wasn't something one overtly desired. Sure, angels may have been a nice concept to some, hell, comforting even, but since the day Dean's mother died (from the first night the young Winchester's father stumbled home drunk at 1 am with a half-finished bottle of whiskey in his hand), Dean had been on his own. Offers of help had been few and far between from then on out.

So what does all this have to do with angels? Some may say that the story began when the hood of Dean's Toyota was smashed in by a large object that landed on it from out of nowhere. Others, however, would more accurately say the story began on the afternoon of John Winchester's funeral, 3 weeks before the fateful accident.

/

The weather was unusual for that time of year in Kansas. The sky was slate grey and the air was heavy with a wet chill. A fine mist fell from the sky, slowly soaking the attendees of the outdoor funeral.

Some of the older attendants chose to grasp umbrellas in their hands, shielding their pressed, dark, dress-clothes from the offending droplets. However, most of the younger crowd chose to bear the rain, as though withstanding the mist paid some sort of penance in God's eyes.

Somewhere towards the back of the gathering, a reed-thin boy with short-cropped blond hair spoke up above the low din of the crowd.

"What do you think rain is?" Adam said from beside Dean. The smallest Winchester gripped his brother's hand and stared up at the sky, the clouds nearly matching the gray of his eyes.

"It's water, dumbass." Sam scoffed from the other side of his brother, where he too held Dean's hand. Sam may have been 15, but some of his more childlike actions were excusable that day (at least in his mind, for he had never bothered to consult anyone else on what they thought-not that he cared).

"Sam..." warned Dean half-heartedly. He was looking around, anxious to see who would be attending. Would his cousin make it? Or his old math teacher who had been friends with John? What about Bobby Singer, the man who used to babysit Sam and Adam when Dean was still too young to do it on his own? Bobby had called earlier offering his condolences, but when it came to the subject of him attending, he was unable to say.

"Didn't mom used to say they were the tears of angels? Heaven weeping for some important reason? Maybe the angels are crying for dad..."

Sam wrinkled his nose at his younger brother "You didn't even know mom, how do you know she said that?"

"Because Dean told me, that's why!" he shot back with all the innocence a 12 year-old could muster.

"Well he's wrong. It's just water, nothing more!" he said with a toxic edge to his voice, " Why don't you grow up?"

"Sam!" Dean finally turned his full attention to his brother. He hadn't seen Bobby Singer, much less his math teacher or his cousin, "Enough!"

Sam huffed again and rolled his eyes while Adam moved even closer to Dean, pressing their sides flush together.

The way Sam was acting wasn't out of the ordinary per say. Dean dismissed the younger Winchester's harshness to the phase he was currently going through-you know, puberty. But there was a certain barb preset that day that ate Dean up inside.

It wasn't the fact that Sam was dealing with his dad's death with harsh words and anger, no, that was to be expected. What unnerved Dean was the fact that the way Sam was coping was the exact same way Dean had coped with his mother's death all those years ago.

And that scared Dean.

Because if he wished for one thing and one thing only, it was that neither Adam nor Sam ended up like him.

He squeezed his brothers' hands tighter at that thought, almost as if he were physically trying to delay the onset of a cruel, harsh reality- as though he were the only thing between the shore and the furious undercurrents of the sea.

/

Somewhere above the gray, and far above the Winchesters, two men sat among the clouds, quietly listening to the Winchesters' exchange.

The men were dressed in robes of silk, wearing thin headbands made of bright gold set with glowing, azure crystals. From the backs of their robes protruded two identical sets of enormous, downy wings, which were currently resting on the clouds as though they were as solid as any floor. Each man beamed with an ethereal presence, one which both calmed and evoked a sense of humility in all those who were ever graced with the presence of one of the men or any others like them.

They sat, legs crossed, looking down through their compound microscope that was no other than the eye of god, to Lawrence, Kansas. As they watched, the pair spoke in hushed voices-

"Are you sure he is the man you seek?" asked a large, dark-skinned man.

"I am sure of if, Uriel" nodded a much smaller, pale man with a drastic shock of brown hair. "I can see his soul and it is the color of a righteous man-a man of both love and war. No human's soul glows that color, save his; Dean Winchester."

"But he is merely a boy-only 24! Your age and wisdom exceeds him by millennia, Castiel, does this not worry you in the slightest?"

The angel that was Castiel shook his head, "A human's life span is much shorter than that of ours, my friend. It is of optimum importance that we seek him out in this moment. A mere breath in our lifetime is a life well lived in theirs"

Uriel "hmm"ed to himself at this, but he did not speak again for another moment.

"When will you approach him?" He questioned.

When Uriel asked this, he was not looking at Castiel. He watched as Dean Winchester, the righteous man, bent over and scooped up a handful of soggy dirt and threw it onto his father's coffin. He wiped his hands on his slacks, leaving a muddy brown streak on his crisp black trousers.

"Not now…I should think he needs a few days to…heal" Castiel said as if the word were foreign to him.

"Humans…they are not like us." He continued, "They form bonds and attachments to each other. Sometimes these connections can become quite strong, and the severing of said connections can cause irreparable damage. If that were to happen, our plans may be thwarted beyond repair-something which is not desirable."

"But Castiel" Uriel began, voice more urgent now, yet more hushed than it was before, "Is it safe for you to wait any longer?"

"I have waited this long, a few more weeks will do no harm. I just have to keep-"

"But what about the man?!" Uriel interrupted, "Is he to be trusted?"

Castiel cast his eyes down to the oldest Winchester, now piling his younger brothers into his car.

"We must have faith that when the day comes, Dean Winchester will-"

"Do not deceive me with your talk of faith and hope! You may trust him, but to any other angel in heaven he is just another knuckle-dragging, hairless ape- barely more evolved than the animals they so resemble!" He spat, his malice for human kind finally fizzing over after being bottle for so long.

"That is enough, Uriel!" Castiel commanded with more force than either had used with one another in a long time.

"Dean Winchester is a servant of the Lord! He is a righteous man and when the day comes for him to do his duty to heaven, he will fulfill his destiny without question! Do you have so little faith in God's Plan that you are willing to allow your hatred for his most beloved creations get the best of you?"

A heavy silence hung between the two friends for a long time after that. By the time Uriel spoke again, Dean Winchester had long since driven away from his father's funeral.

"How can you be so certain that this is God's plan?" he said quietly. He had subdued his rage for the time being, which left him with quiet resignation.

Castiel said nothing. He looked down at his hands, so small in their human form.

"If this was God's plan," the larger man continued, "why are you being hunted like common game? Why is he not protecting you if what you are doing is truly destined? Truly _righteous_?"

Another pause lingered between the pair. Castiel turned his hands over and put them to his sides, pushing himself up off the clouds. He then offered a hand to his partner, which the man took graciously.

When his friend pulled himself up to full height, Castiel stood back and looked the other angel in the eye. His azure orbs met muddy brown ones, and with as much conviction as the angel could muster, with as much sincerity he could pull from the depths of his being, Castiel answered;

"Because I have faith. And that is enough for me."

/

Castiel was alone. All around him the clouds were dark and the stars had just barely begun to peek out from behind the dusky overcast after yet another day of rain. His wings stood out against the haze, contrasting a stark white against the murky backdrop.

Below him, Dean Winchester slept peacefully in his bed alone, save for the plush pillows pressed against his back and stomach, his blanket pulled tight around his abdomen.

Castiel watched as the man turned over in his sleep, mouthing something ineligible. He watched his brow furrow, just as clearly as he watched the man's dreams. They were dark, much like the surrounding sky, and filled with sorrow, but hope-so much hope.

For a moment, Castiel thought he felt something tug at his heart. This would be the last night Castiel would be able to observe the Winchester's dreams, the last night Dean Winchester would sleep peacefully without the watchful eyes of Castiel, angel of the Lord, watching over him. For tomorrow, Dean Winchester's life was slated to change forever.

The next day, Castiel is going to meet Dean Winchester.

/

It's 4:46 pm on a Thursday afternoon in August.

Dean Winchester is driving a 2003 silver Toyota, because his beloved Impala is parked in his garage back home.

He is returning home from a day at work, and is looking forward to seeing Sam and Adam. He promised to help Adam with his science project that night, and to help Sam study for his algebra test.

Dean would like to think he is moving on from his father's death, but his white-knuckled grip on his steering wheel and 3 cups of coffee since 7 am say differently. But Dean doesn't listen to them, when has he ever listened to anything or anyone besides himself and his father?

Dean takes a sharp turn down an old country road, passing a heard of sheep in a pasture. He is peering around another bend in the road up ahead, but he never makes it to that turn.

Suddenly, something is hitting the hood of his car, and Dean is breaking as quick as he possibly can. His windshield is nearly shattered, the waves of impact shuddering through his car like volts of electricity.

When he steps out, all he can smell are the burning rubber of his Toyota's tires and something like scorched hair. It's unpleasant, but Dean isn't thinking about the smell right now, for when he reaches the front of his car, the young man visibly balks at what he sees.

The road looks like it has been hit by a crater, and instead of steaming with the heat of impact, whatever is in the hole is giving off a mystical blue gas.

Dean's never been a coward, but right now, he's afraid to look into the smoldering hole. And when he finally does look in, what he sees is about 1,000 times more bizarre than what he thought he'd see.

Because instead of a meteor, or shrapnel from some doomed aircraft, what Dean sees is a man.

A small, pale man (from what he can tell through the grime and dust) with a drastic shock of dark hair. He is bathed blue light; silent and unmoving.

/


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So I made a few revisions to the first chapter to better fit this one, so you may want to go back and reread it. Other than that, please enjoy!**

/

Dean drove at an accelerated rate, his tires squealing around a tight bend in the road. The body in his backseat jostled, but did not fall, and for that Dean breathed a miniature, grateful sigh of relief.

Moments ago, Dean had been peering down at the same body that was in his backseat, except for then, it was lying a near 4 feet deep in the earth, naked and crumpled like a used soda can.

The Winchester's first instinct had been to call the police then haul ass the fuck outta there.

Although he was in a state of shock, Dean immediately crossed that option off his list. He may be completely baffled and, for lack of a better expression, freaked the hell out, but he couldn't just leave the guy there, no matter where he came from, or why he was currently lying in the ground.

Dean's second instinct was to call an ambulance. This option seemed reasonable, and Dean would have most likely chosen that option, had it not been for the gigantic aperture in the road. How the hell would he explain that? Not to mention the medics would have to involve the law, which would mean questioning, and paper work and court and-no.

So Dean did the only other thing he could think of at that moment. He walked to the back of his car and opened up the trunk, digging into the back to pull out his road-kit. Inside were flashlights, a couple of road flares, matches, and, at the very bottom, an old, scratchy wool blanket that smelled of rosin and moth balls, which Dean yanked out as quickly as he could before closing his trunk again.

After minutes of careful maneuvering and perhaps a bit of physics manipulation, Dean was able to pull the man out of the crater and wrap him in the blanket. Dean tried to maintain a sense of professionalism whilst doing so, but he couldn't help but notice while covering the other man that he did not appear to be physically bruised or scraped what-so-ever.

Still, as Dean piled the man into the back of the car, he decided it would most likely be a good idea to have the man checked out. Fortunately, he knew someone who would be able to help him out without asking too many questions.

As Dean accelerated even faster down a long stretch of road, Dean pulled his cell phone out of his coat pocket. It was old and still flipped open, but it worked just fine in his opinion.

He flicked through his contacts quickly, drawing up the name of a woman who lived only a few minutes away from him. He clicked the number, and the phone began ringing.

"Hello?" a weathered, familiar voice came through the other end after several rings.

"Ellen!" Dean answered back with poorly masked urgency in his voice, "Sorry to call so late, but is there any chance that Jo's home? It's kind of…" he glanced at the unconscious person in his backseat, "urgent."

Dean could almost see Ellen's disapproving glare, "Dean Winchester, what the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?"

There was a noise in the background that sounded like carrots being chopped, and Dean briefly flashed back to his childhood spent sitting in the Singer's kitchen, watching as Ellen prepared a soup for that night, her husband, Bobby, right next to her, peeling carrots and potatoes and occasionally stealing a kiss from his wife.

Dean always imagined the Singer's was what a real family would be like, one without death and sorrow and the perpetual smell of your father's whiskey tainting your clothes. That's not to say the Singer's life wasn't perfect- Ellen had lost her first husband in the Gulf War, and Bobby already had one divorce under his belt- but the pair made it work; a little island of paradise smack in the middle of Podunk, Kansas. Who would have thought?

As it turned out, Jo wasn't actually Bobby's daughter. Jo was only his step-daughter, her father being Ellen's first husband, but her and Bobby had bonded over the years, just as Dean and her had bonded over summers spent swimming in creeks or filling out college applications in the dusty local library.

Jo, as it would turn out, was actually accepted to a nursing college about fifteen minutes outside of Lawrence, which was the reason Dean was calling. The young woman was still in school for the job, but Dean would bet his right hand that she knew enough to run the damn hospital by herself. She had always been like that, though, smart and at the top of her game- always eager to prove herself to those around her.

Unfortunately, she was on call a large amount of time, so catching her in a free moment was something like finding a real-life unicorn.

"I haven't done anything, Mrs. Singer," Dean tried to joke, "Can't I just call and talk to your lovely daughter?"

"You just said-" Ellen began, but halfway through decided it was better to just go with it. With a groan of frustration, she held the receiver away from her mouth as she hollered for her daughter.

There was a brief cacophony of what sounded like feet pounding down a flight of stairs, and a phone being passed from one person to another.

"Hello?" came a significantly higher-pitched voice, "Dean?"

"Hey, Jo!" The older man greeted "How are you?"

"Dean Winchester, I know you didn't call to make small talk with me. What's up?"

Dean had the briefest desire to answer _'Oh nothing much, I just got an unconscious, naked man that fell out of the sky in the back seat of my car, no big deal, how are your finals going?'_, but he thought better of it.

"Actually, Jo, you're right. Turns out I was in a bit of an accident and I need your help with something."

The young woman's voice was instantly more serious than it had been moments before, "What?" she gasped, "Dean, you're not hurt are you?"

"What? No! No, not me." He paused, thinking of how to proceed. "Look, it's a little hard to explain right now, so can you just meet me at my house in about ten minutes?"

There was once again noise on the other end of the line, this time the sound of keys jingling together. "I'm leaving right now, don't worry. I'll be over as soon as possible."

"Great, thanks." Dean said.

"No problem, Dean." Jo returned, and then she hung up, leaving Dean alone with silence save for the sound of the man in his backseat breathing softly.

/

There were several good things John Winchester had left behind for Dean when he died. Two of those things would be Sam and Adam, another being the sleek, black '67 Impala covered by a blanket in the garage. There was also the auto-shop and a whole array of tools and devices used for vehicle repair- but one of John Winchester's most greatly appreciated legacies had to have been the house he left behind.

The house was a solid, older model, built back in the 1920's when people stilled cared about the finer details that went into a place. It was two-stories, with white siding and a deep blue door, and it had a modest sized yard surrounded by a white picket fence (something that was just a touch too middle-America for Dean's taste). Somewhere along the line, one if the previous owners had added a two car garage on to the house with a loft apartment directly above it. No one in the Winchester family ever used it, and Dean was having a tough time finding someone to rent it. As it so turned out, not too many people were willing to live in a house with three young boys.

Dean pulled up the short driveway to his house, putting the car in park in front of the garage. Jo had already arrived, and when the eldest Winchester got out of the car, he saw that the young woman was leaning against her car waiting for him.

Dean stepped out of the Toyota and shoved his keys in his pocket, offering a quick wave to her.

"So, what exactly is going on?" the blond girl asked whilst making her way towards the taller man. She eyed his busted up car, but only raised her eyebrows at the older man.

Without saying a word, Dean jabbed his thumb towards the back of his car, silently urging the young woman to look for herself. She offer Dean a strange look, but moved to look through the window anyways. Only after a fraction of a second later, Jo was yelping and jumping back, her eyes wide and terrified.

"Dean!" She exclaimed. Her voice shaking with horror and disbelief "Did you kill a man? Did you kill a man with your car?"

"No!" He hissed, "No, dammit, I just…" he trailed off, looking for something to say that didn't sound completely insane. Luckily, Jo picked up where he left off.

"We need to move this man inside now! He could have internal hemorrhaging- why the fuck didn't you take him straight to the hospital?!" she demanded.

Dean tried his best to be calm, "Look Jo, I know this all may seem a bit strange, but I need you to help me carry him inside. There, I'll explain everything to you. I just need you to give him a good once-over, alright?"

Jo looked like she was going to either run or cry, but just as quickly as they had appeared, the frantic emotions melted away and were replaced with the stony façade of a determined nurse.

"Alright, you're going to climb into the car and get your hands under his arms alright? I assume his neck isn't broken because you already moved him and he isn't, well, dead, so you should be alright. Be gentle though, you don't want to jostle any broken ribs. I'll take his legs, and then we will carry him inside, and up the stairs to the spare bedroom, okay?"

Dean just nodded. Truthfully, he was feeling a bit overwhelmed.

"Alright", she clapped her hands together, "Let's do this."

/

Once the mystery man had been safely transported to the upper level of the house, Jo had gotten to work. She checked him over in what appeared to be a very professional manner, while she shooed Dean away to fetch her a cool washrag and some water.

When Dean came back, she pointed to the man's forehead.

"Put the washcloth there. Although there are no lacerations visible, he still seems to be a running a slight fever."

Dean obediently did as he was told, then handed her the bottle of water he had fetched as well. She nodded her thanks to him as she rummaged through her medical bag, pulling out a stethoscope and several other instruments Dean vaguely recognized.

After a good several minutes of poking and prodding and _whatever the heck that was_, Jo turned to Dean with a look of confusion written across her face, "There…there doesn't seem to be any internal damage. Of course, I can't be sure that there isn't, but I didn't feel any broken bones, his heart beat is only slightly elevated, and there is no blood in his mouth, nose, ears, or eyes."

Dean wanted to feel shocked at this revelation, but after a night of emotional trauma and strange happenings, Dean decided this was just par for the course.

Jo, on the other hand, wasn't quite as dismissive.

"What the Hell happened, Dean? I mean, I get a call from you at 5 in the afternoon sounding like you just committed murder, and when I get here, it turns out it's much worse than that! Because not only do you have an injured man lying in your backseat, he's also unconscious and naked! I think I deserve at least a little explanation for not calling the police the moment I saw a body."

Dean sighed and ran a hand over his closed eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose. The initial shock of the situation had worn off, and now he just felt tired. He wanted nothing more than to lie down on the couch, watch some bad television, then fall asleep, thus forgetting about the anomaly of a man currently hauled up in his guest bedroom.

"I…" he began, "I don't exactly know what happened myself. One minute I'm driving down Barnes Road and the next…" he chuckled humorlessly to himself, "You're never going to believe me, Jo, but the next minute it was like he just fell out of nowhere. He just landed smack on my car, and when I got out, there was a goddamn hole in the ground the size of a damn…a damn…well it was a big hole." He said, unable to think of an analogy.

"And when I looked down it, there he was, lying at the bottom, birthday suit and all. Not a single scratch on his body either, I might add."

"Do you think that maybe he fell out of a plane or something like that?" Jo asked.

Dean shrugged, "I don't think so. He would have been pretty busted up if he fell out of a plane, and besides, that wouldn't explain why he was naked." The older man paused for a moment, considered whether to tell Jo the next piece of information.

"It was almost like…"he struggled to string his words together, to make himself sound sane, "It almost looked like he was…_glowing_ when I first saw him. And not just any color, a bright, ethereal blue, like it was evaporating off of his body like steam…"

Jo at least had the good graces to look a tiny bit taken aback at his statement, but just as quickly, she glanced back at the man lying on Dean's bed; dirty, naked, and unmoving. "Look…" she said "I don't know if you're lying, or if you're in shock but…all I know is that something just isn't right here. People don't just fall from the sky without a scratch on their body, you know?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah. Thanks, Jo."

She smiled at him, "Anytime."

"Now," Jo pulled out a chair from the wall to the side of the bed and sat down in it, crossing her legs, "why don't I stay here and watch this guy while you go check on Sam and Adam. I'm sure they have questions as to why you and I were hauling a presumably dead body through the house."

Dean sighed, stretching his back. It had been a long night. "Yeah, I'm surprised they haven't come busting in here yet demanding answers."

"They're good kids," Jo offered, "I think they know when not to meddle."

The oldest Winchester actually smiled at that, nodding, "Yeah…yeah they are..." once again he paused. And then, "You know, they really missed you the other week at John's…John's thing. I was actually surprised to see Bobby didn't make it."

Jo looked away from Dean, focusing her attention on the man on the bed. Dean could tell she felt guilty, and almost instantly he felt bad for bringing it up.

"I know…" she conceded. "I was hoping him and I could have been there as well, but I had school and Bobby…well, you know how Bobby gets when he works a case. Even I haven't seen him but for a few hours these past three weeks."

What Jo was saying was true, and Dean knew it from having known Bobby for so long. Bobby was the chief of police in Lawrence, meaning he had dug his way from the bottom of the barrel to head honcho all by sheer talent and love of the job. The thing was, Bobby was passionate about what he did and got the job done with a single-minded determination that was evident to those around him. He had bagged more criminals than any other chief in the state, something which made Dean proud to know him.

However, sometimes this single minded determination meant Bobby was forced to sacrafice other things, like time with his friends and family. Dean swore he understood, he really did, but he couldn't help feeling a tinge of disappointment at his absence.

Ellen and Jo, of course, were another story when it came to John. Jo had been on a two day shift at the hospital that weekend, sleeping in her scrubs in the break room when she got the chance, and Ellen…well, Ellen had never cared for John, and Dean didn't expect her to start just because he was dead.

Dean was snapped out of his reverie when Jo reached up and lightly touched Dean's arm, trying to offer him some comfort.

"I know he wanted to be there…" Jo said softly, squeezing Dean's arm, "And I did too."

Dean brushed her hand off, feeling erroneous at Jo comforting him. It wasn't like it was her fault; it wasn't anybody's fault…

"I know…" he answered. He was ready to leave then; emotional tension never sat well with him.

"Look, I'm going to go check on the boys alright?" His voice was significantly lighter than it had been a second ago, as though attempting to lift the mood, "You stay here and watch Mr. Comatose there" he gestured to the silent man, "and call me if anything changes, alright?"

"No, I just planned on climbing out the window and leaving you to your own accord." The blond girl grinned devilishly.

"Of course" Dean laughed, slightly nudging her with his hand. Jo shoved him back, hard enough to jostle him off his balance. "Whoa, hey there!" he exclaimed.

"Get out of here and go tend to your family." She commanded, chuckling playfully.

As Dean walked towards the door, he mock-saluted his friend, "Yes ma'am!"

/

It had been a good two hours since Dean and Jo had carried the strange man from the road inside the house, and he had not so much as stirred in that time.

When Dean left the bedroom, softly closing the door behind himself, it didn't take more than a quick walk down the stairs for him to spot his younger brothers in the living room. Adam sat on the couch, pouring over what looked like an attempt at a paper mâché solar system, while Sam sat next to him, gingerly painting a Styrofoam ball that would probably end up as a moon. Dean smiled to himself at this picture, and allowed himself a minute to observe the pair in a moment of domestic bliss, before walking in.

As soon as Sam saw his older brother, the second Winchester jumped up, striding over to Dean. Under his breath, and far away so Adam wouldn't hear, he hissed, "What the hell, Dean?"

Dean held up a hand to stop his younger brother, and instead opted to take a seat next to Adam, gesturing for Sam to sit next to him on the sofa. Sam rolled his eyes, taking a seat in the armchair next to the couch.

Dean told the boys the exact same thing he had told Jo, minus the glowing, and each of them nodded with notable apprehension and reserved understanding.

After that, the eldest of the group had gotten up and cooked dinner for the two: a modest meal of macaroni and cheese. Dean was used to making dinner by now, and liked to think of himself as a decent cook- but tonight was different, obviously, and neither of his brothers complained when presented with the food.

Now, Dean once again headed into the kitchen, this time to snag himself a beer before he began grading his student's papers. He was almost to his bag in the front foyer to fetch them, when Jo screamed for him, fright evident in her voice.

"Dean! Dean, come quick!"

And if Dean had not been a faster runner, bounding up the stairs as quickly as he could go, he would have missed what Jo had called him for.

The man lying on the bed had slightly parted his lips, moving for the first time that night. That, however, was not what either of them were looking at. From between the man's full lips, out floated a substance neither of them had ever seen. It was like the light Dean had seen the man giving off earlier, except this time it glowed brighter and stronger with a gorgeous luster that twinkled in the light of the lamp next to his bed.

And then it was over; a simple breath of the substance, floating off into the air, dissolving almost moments later.

They both were silent for a moment, before Jo spoke up.

"Wh-what the hell was that?"

But Dean never had a chance to answer her, because seconds later, the once lifeless man was sitting straight up in bed, his eyes flying wide open to reveal irises the same color as the glow had had emitted. He moved with rigidity, like something from an old monster movie coming to life. Instantly, as if he knew where Jo and Dean were, he snapped his head towards them, his whole body now glowing like it had earlier.

The only thing he commanded, in a deep, rumbling voice much too large for his body, was, "Shut your eyes." before the room was filled with a blinding, cerulean light emanating from his body.

/

**A/N: As an aside, I am not familiar with medical practices or any schooling involving medicine. Sorry for any mistakes!**


End file.
